


A Little Spark

by sapphirescribe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Implied Mpreg, M/M, bareback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1800262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/pseuds/sapphirescribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Derek stands in the doorway to the kitchen and just... watches. Stiles is at the counter, naked but for his red hoodie, and the light of the rising sun shines through the window, casting him in an ethereal glow.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Spark

**Author's Note:**

> This was entry #24 for the mating_games challenge for canon AU/divergence.
> 
> Hey! This work has been [translated into Russian](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10341126)!!

Derek stands in the doorway to the kitchen and just... _watches_. Stiles is at the counter, naked but for his red hoodie, and the light of the rising sun shines through the window, casting him in an ethereal glow.

"I know you're there," Stiles says without turning. "You can't sneak up on me anymore."

"Wasn't trying to," Derek replies, walking into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Stiles. He rests his chin on Stiles' shoulder and places his hands on Stiles' torso, fingers splayed so he can touch as much skin as possible.

Stiles rolls his hips, pressing his ass back against Derek's cock. It would be nothing to slip inside him right here, to bend him over the counter and fuck him until he can't move.

"Do it," Stiles moans, displaying the uncanny aptitude for reading each other they've both been experiencing recently. He leans his head back onto Derek's shoulder and reaches a hand behind him to grip Derek's cock, quickly working it to a hardness that's never far away these days.

Derek slides in easily; Stiles is open and wet with Derek's come from not even thirty minutes earlier. He presses in deep, as close as possible, and Stiles' head falls forward as he braces himself against the counter.

He wonders if it'll always be like this. This near-constant _need_ simmering just under the surface, only held back with conscious effort on both their parts. 

Between breaths, between thrusts, Stiles whimpers out words of encouragement.

"Yes, Der— fuck me, fill me," he sighs. "Wish you could always be in me. Want to always be touching you."

Derek can't keep his mouth off of Stiles' neck, licking and sucking and biting at it, worrying the skin until it's heated and red. Rolling his hips, he fucks Stiles slowly, focused on keeping them as close together as possible, and pressing in as deep as he can with every move.

"More," Stiles begs. "C'mon, Derek."

His heart is racing, he's burning up with this neverending _urgency_ that consumes him to be near, around, _in_ Stiles all the time. His hand flies to Stiles neck, pulling Stiles' back flush against his chest. Stiles' head flops back, presenting his throat to Derek without hesitation. Stiles' heartbeat—his blood—pulse against Derek's fingers wrapped around his throat.

As much as he wants to keep up this slow, languid pace for _days_ , Derek's balls begin to tighten, and his gut burns with the need to come, to fill Stiles up with more than just his dick.

He picks up his pace and lets his fingers twine with Stiles' where they're jacking his cock with increasing speed.

The kitchen is filled with the sounds of fucking—Derek's pelvis slapping Stiles' ass, the obscene squelch of lube and come as Derek pounds his dick into Stiles, Stiles' harsh breaths as he begs for Derek to fuck him harder and harder.

"Come for me, Stiles," he moans into Stiles' neck as he twists his hand around the head of his cock. "Come on."

Moments later Stiles stills, fingers in a white-knuckled grip on the counter, ass clenching hard around Derek's dick. He practically wails Derek's name as he comes, and Derek can feel the vibrations in his hand, where it's still wrapped around Stiles' neck, and on his lips where they're still—he wishes _always_ —pressed to Stiles' pulse point.

And Derek comes and comes and _comes_ , the sight and scent and sound of Stiles overwhelming him.

They stand there, locked together, panting, for long, quiet minutes, before Stiles takes Derek's hand.

"Can you feel that?" Stiles asks, pressing Derek's palm to his lower abdomen. "Can you feel it, Derek?"

He inhales deeply and centers himself, focuses on the call of Stiles' magic that thrums in his own veins, and has since Stiles got a new body.

It's faint at first, overshadowed by Stiles' magic, but soon he realizes the quiet vibrations he's feeling aren't actually coming from Stiles. They're coming from—

"Fuck, Stiles."

"You feel that?" he asks. "That's _our_ spark."


End file.
